August 2011 archive

I’ve been waiting for a girl like you.….….…

Com­ing off of last week’s mon­u­men­tal fail­ure, I decid­ed that I either improved or I would have to start post­ing pics of my flab and semi-fad­ed stretch marks as some kind of moti­va­tor. Real­iz­ing that I would see some of you at an upcom­ing reunion, mass or Sun­day night din­ner at mom and dad’s (let’s face it most peo­ple read­ing this like­ly share some of my DNA) at some point, I feared that this action would not only cause me humil­i­a­tion, but also great sad­ness when I saw you sport­ing eye patch­es cov­er­ing the wounds from wash­ing your eyes out with acid after view­ing the pic­tures, so I thought  I had prob­a­bly bet­ter not. Instead, Chub­by had to con­trol her­self at the QT and not grab the choco­late bars. Instead, I man­aged to waste mon­ey on 32 oz Diet Cokes, win­ner, and sev­er­al scratcher cards, loser after loser after loser. 
Sam&Libby’s and a Blos­som Hat would have rocked this out­fit
Due to the fact that my run­ning sched­ule was com­plete­ly destroyed the week pri­or, this past week only con­sist­ed of two runs. The first took place on Tues­day morn­ing when most of you were still snug­gling and hit­ting the snooze. I like my morn­ing runs. I feel good the rest of the day and  I like the fact that before I con­sume any­thing for break­fast, it is essen­tial­ly calor­i­cal­ly negat­ed. While all of the­se things are nice, there are a few things about the ear­ly morn­ing run that are not so nice. Like the kids wait­ing for the bus in the morn­ing. While I am sure that no one is going to chase me or beat me up, or even spit at me, I know that they are laugh­ing. I think back to when I was 10,11,12 may­be 31 1/2 and I would see some pathet­ic fool walk­ing Fran­cis Park jam­ming to Richard Marx on their Walk­man while rock­ing the Umbros and think­ing, what a loser. I am now that wom­an, sans the perm and Tre­torns. God I would love to get my hands on a pair of those, or some Sam and Lib­by Bow Shoes, Damn Gina!
There real­ly is no way to avoid the­se bus rid­ers. They stand there and they stare. There is one fel­la in par­tic­u­lar that real­ly gives me the creeps. You know him. He is the one who looks like he is wear­ing his dad’s clothes, grey sweats, glass­es and eat­ing a bagel. He isn’t one for fash­ion, he is one for snacks. He doesn’t care about tak­ing a show­er, he is play­ing WOW all night. He is 12, oily and awk­ward and I think that he is in love with me. He looks at me long­ing­ly. His dream girl is approach­ing, it is as if For­eign­er is blar­ing in his ears and I am appear­ing out of a cloud. I am his Bo Derek run­ning up the beach, his Christie Brink­ley in a red corvet­te, Tawny Kitaen danc­ing on the hood of his mom’s mini van. His eyes are locked on me as he chews. I can’t look away from his direc­tion either. Not because I am inter­est­ed in being his main squeeze. Instead it is worse, so very much worse. I could briefly con­sid­er going all Mary Kay Letourneau than to bat­tle with the vicious beast behind him. 
Teenage Dream.…
It is gray, round and fur­ry. It is so close to me I can almost hear the purring. If that son of a bitch comes one step off of that porch the­se school kids are going to get the scare of their lives. I am jog­ging at a slow pace and star­ing it down. In my head I am chant­i­ng, “Please don’t eat me, please don’t eat me. Dear God, please keep me safe.” I feign a smile in an effort to ward off the beast. Unfor­tu­nate­ly, my boyfriend takes this as an invi­ta­tion and smiles back.  His head is filled with ways to ask me out and I am sim­ply hop­ing to sur­vive the next 10 feet. Thank­ful­ly, I make it pass the kit­ty and hot lips and I con­tin­ue on my way.
You would cry too, no prob­a­bly not…
I fig­ured that I had encoun­tered enough romance for one morn­ing, so I would avoid the oth­er bus stops and head in a dif­fer­ent path on my way home. This proved to be my biggest error in judge­ment to date. As I was round­ing the cor­ner, I noticed a large blue truck in front of me. No, not a Ford, Chevy or GMC, lucky for me, it was trash day. Awe­some. 
What exer­cise enthu­si­ast wouldn’t love to be fol­low­ing a truck filled with crap? To make mat­ters even more excit­ing, we were trav­el­ing uphill. I have described my ath­let­ic abil­i­ties before, so let’s not get con­fused here. Run­ning uphill is at very best a semi-fast walk filled with pant­i­ng and pan­ic attacks that I may be thir­ty sec­onds from death. Well this truck dri­ver  saw some­thing in his review mir­ror that he quite enjoyed on Tues­day. So instead of putting me out of me mis­ery and mov­ing his stank ass a lit­tle faster, he decid­ed that it he want­ed to cruise through the neigh­bor­hood just a smidge more swift­ly than me. In essence, I could have pushed him and the SOB would have trav­eled faster.  There was noth­ing that I could do. I was down­wind of an idiot who was try­ing to send me the vibe and all of my neigh­bors trash. Awe­some. I con­tin­ued with him for about 30 more sec­onds and stopped. Just quit mov­ing in the mid­dle of the street. I was total­ly tempt­ed to flip him the bird, but fig­ured that he could flip a trash can on me, so I resist­ed. Even­tu­al­ly, lover­boy got the pic­ture and he moved along. I made it home unscathed and with­out par­tic­i­pat­ing in an extra­mar­i­tal affair even though both poten­tial suit­ors were tempt­ing.
One of the­se morn­ings, my kids are going to wake up and find me passed out like this
 My sec­ond run took place on Fri­day night. Total loserville. It was 7:30 and I knew that I would be get­ting up ear­ly the next morn­ing to hit some garage sales with my moth­er, so it was one of those now or nev­er moments. I chose the now and I failed. I failed mis­er­ably. It was C25K W4D3 and I couldn’t do it. I don’t think that it was because I can’t run it, I just chose an extreme­ly hilly course that was com­plete­ly out of my com­fort zone. I didn’t total­ly quit. I con­tin­ued the work­out walk­ing, so I still got some exer­cise in. As a reward to myself for doing such an amaz­ing job and not quit­ting, I ordered a large cheese piz­za and ate it in bed with my hus­band watch­ing the Blindside…..Colleen 0 Fat Colleen 110…..
Fail­ure
Sat­ur­day morn­ing I decid­ed that I need­ed to pick through oth­er people’s dis­cards at a rum­mage sale and get real­ly nosey while vis­it­ing a few homes for garage sales. It always amazes me that peo­ple, includ­ing myself, will pay mon­ey for some­thing that was lov­ing­ly remarked as, “Get this s*&$ out of my house now.” The first stop of the day, I found an absolute trea­sure. 
I won­der if this is still part of the gym cur­ricu­lum at SJA?
I am not sure how I feel about the man­ner in which I found it. This is a Time Life 20th Anniver­sary Edi­tion. How­ev­er, only the first disc is out of its orig­i­nal pack­age, which means that some­one opened one disc, played it and said, “F*&% this!” Poor, Richard, he was just try­ing to help……
What is my weight­loss this week? I have no idea. My scale is com­plete­ly and total­ly use­less. It gives me crazy num­bers all the time. As a mat­ter of fact, it told me that I gained two pounds in the show­er this morn­ing. Well, I have been using volu­miz­ing sham­poo and a bit of it MAY, have rolled down my back and shoulders………Since my clothes fit the same, I am deem­ing my weight the same for the week!
****Blog Bonus****
This week’s idiot moment is brought to you by my par­ents’ dri­ve­way. I was pick­ing the boy’s up from Mau­r­mi Day­care last Tues­day evening. As always, it was a huge pro­duc­tion leav­ing the house with Finnegan fight­ing me tooth and nail to stay. I decid­ed to get Bren­nan into his car seat first and then go back into the house to get Finnegan. All of sud­den out of the cor­ner of my eye I saw a huge, thick snake. Nat­u­ral­ly, I start­ed scream­ing, caus­ing Bren­nan to start scream­ing. As I dove into the car for safe­ty, I turned to see if the snake had moved any closer to me…….Idiot……
Wow, how frightening…shiver, shiv­er.…..

Shame, shame I know your name!

Dear God, last week was a dis­as­ter. It start­ed out OK, real­ly, it did. Tues­day, I com­plet­ed W4D1 of C25K and was feel­ing good. Aside from the fact that I began to hal­lu­ci­nate toward the end of the run and found myself say­ing Hail Marys to get me through. At one point dur­ing my final run when the sim­ple prayer wasn’t work­ing, I broke out into a pant­i­ng ren­di­tion of Hail Mary, Gen­tle Wom­an in the hope that some­how the time would mirac­u­lous­ly count­down to noth­ing before I died. 

I was real­ly near death at this point
I head­ed into work on Thurs­day morn­ing not expect­ing much to hap­pen. The week had been good so far and I was feel­ing moti­vat­ed and hap­py. I began my work day as usu­al and start­ed drink­ing my 67 glass­es of water, which has become rou­tine. Because of the inor­di­nate amount of water that I have been con­sum­ing, mul­ti­ple trips to the bath­room have also become rou­tine. After wash­ing my hands dur­ing one such trip, I moved to the left to grab a paper tow­el and that is when I was swift­ly smacked in the face with the plas­tic cov­er on the paper tow­el hold­er. It hit me direct­ly between the eyes push­ing my new sexy specs up into my fore­head. The force was so strong that I began to have that feel­ing on my nose that sort of feels like a taran­tu­la crawl­ing on your face. Thank­ful­ly, this bath­room is a one stall won­der and I wasn’t putting on a live per­for­mance. I gath­ered my com­po­sure and made my way back to my desk. 
I am cer­tain that I must have expe­ri­enced some type of head injury because there is sim­ply no way that the events that were about to take place would have hap­pened oth­er­wise. Up until this moment, I had every inten­tion of con­tin­u­ing the rest of the week as planned. I had three amaz­ing weeks under my belt. But sud­den­ly and with­out warn­ing, temp­ta­tion reared its ugly head and instead of turn­ing in the oth­er direc­tion, I dove head first into the prover­bial Old Coun­try Buf­fet.
It start­ed out inno­cent enough. I made a mis­take on a project at work, no one’s fault but my own for not read­ing the direc­tions AT ALL! Instead of slough­ing it off like a nor­mal per­son and mov­ing on, I decid­ed that I most def­i­nite­ly need­ed a piece of choco­late. One of my offices is most con­ve­nient­ly locat­ed direct­ly next door to a dis­count retail­er that sells just about every­thing. Instead of grab­bing a sin­gle, low­er fat but large­ly deli­cious 3 Mus­ke­teers bar, I decid­ed to go for the 94 piece vari­ety pack. Yes, 94 pieces.  I know what you are think­ing, “Colleen you cer­tain­ly didn’t eat the whole bag, right?? No, of course not, after grab­bing about 15 pieces and shov­ing them in a desk draw­er, I sur­ren­dered the bag to a cowork­er and asked that they be locked up indef­i­nite­ly. That last­ed exact­ly one hour. I hand­ed them off thir­ty min­utes before leav­ing and had the bag back in my pos­ses­sion with­in the first half hour of the next day and they nev­er left my side from that point on. I con­sumed half of the bag!
Richard I am so ashamed!
My binge didn’t end with 55 pieces of choco­late. Heav­ens no, I was bound and deter­mined to be suc­cess­ful at some­thing, so overeat­ing and mak­ing myself feel like shit phys­i­cal­ly and emo­tion­al­ly was the win­ner! Through­out the next four days I ate in no par­tic­u­lar order, McDonald’s, St. Louis Bread Co., Favazza’s, Bai­leys Choco­late Bar, Piz­za, Pot Roast, Dairy Queen Ice Cream Cake and Peanut But­ter M&Ms. This was just dur­ing nor­mal meal times. I also took in a mati­nee on Sat­ur­day and 4500 calo­ries in pop­corn, twiz­zlers, junior mints and whop­pers. But don’t wor­ry, I wasn’t com­plete­ly crazy. I washed it all down with a 44 oz DIET coke! I cer­tain­ly can’t jus­ti­fy emp­ty calo­ries to drink!
If it weren’t for the­se two and the Smurfs.…
What hap­pened to the run­ning you ask? How often do you see a hip­popota­mus charg­ing through your neigh­bor­hood? All of this high calo­rie uber deli­cious food made me feel as if I weighed 1000 pounds and my moti­va­tion slipped right out the door. Unf­reak­ing­be­lie­ve­able. One week I am vow­ing not to look like “one of those rap guys’ girl­friends” and today I feel like Richard Sim­mons should be knock­ing on my door and drag­ging me to Mau­ry Povich! OK, so that is dra­mat­ic, but real­ly, how do the 1200 pounders get that way? By work­ing real­ly hard like I did last week! I am fin­ish­ing up the last of my deli­cious­ly salty sweet pret­zel M&Ms as I type and I will be back in the game tomor­row. I mean, real­ly, you can’t pos­si­ble expect me to not fin­ish the bag, right? 
Eat the Chunky or be the Chunky.….that is the ques­tion
Despite all of the crap that I con­sumed, I only gained 1/2 a pound this week. I am absolute­ly unsure of how that is at all pos­si­ble, but the scale doesn’t lie. I hope…….
I took my friends to Schnucks this after­noon to stock up on fresh pro­duce and to say hel­lo to our pals
***BLOG BONUS***
Idiot moment of the week, as if the afore men­tioned wasn’t enough. I was walk­ing into the back entrance of one of my office loca­tions this week when I unex­pect­ed­ly hit a pot hole and did a dis­mount that would have made Ker­ri Strug stare in awe. You see, in the mid­st of stick­ing my land­ing, I danced right in front of the O.A.T.S van that was drop­ping peo­ple off next door. I guar­an­tee you that despite and phys­i­cal com­pli­ca­tion that those poor peo­ple might have had, I most def­i­nite­ly took the gold medal for look­ing the most hand­i­capped!

Girl you looks good.….…..

One of the most basic neces­si­ties for a pos­i­tive work­out expe­ri­ence is the prop­er­ly moti­vat­ing sound­track. Since day one, I have found that artists such as Ke$ha (note the prop­er use of the dol­lar sign), Gnarls Barkley, Bil­ly Ocean and the occa­sion­al NKOTB song have kept me going. It is so sim­ple to get lost in the moment, “Hey, hey, you, you, get into my car. Who me?” I have been known to coy­ly look over at a pass­ing vehi­cle, only to find a 70-year-old man in a Buick not a hot Jheri curled Bil­ly Ocean in a con­vert­ible. Since I don’t live in Miami and it isn’t 1988, this past week, I found a whole new moti­va­tion.
The Sun was blar­ing even at 6 am
It seems like I go to Schnucks every day. I am not kid­ding, the check­ers, man­agers and deli employ­ees know my children’s names, birth­days and blood types, we are there that often. On one of last week’s first trips, I went to flip the sta­tion and acci­den­tal­ly hit the CD but­ton. The CD play­er in my car gets about as much use as the record play­er in my par­ents’ base­ment so you nev­er know what you might find. What began to blare from the speak­ers was pure col­lege and a col­lec­tion of the most vile, dis­re­spect­ful, vul­gar rap music that I had heard in years. I was THRILLED! The fact that my two babies were in the car meant that mom­ma wasn’t going to be able to enjoy her spoils until the next day. Upon return­ing from the friend­liest stores in town, I imme­di­ate­ly upload­ed the CD to iTunes and it was entered into my iPod for the next morning’s run.
I began with a quick warm up lis­ten­ing to the sweet words of Ice Cube and We be Club­bin’. I wasn’t over­ly inspired by the­se par­tic­u­lar lyrics. It cer­tain­ly has a nice beat, plen­ty of uses of the f word and is mild­ly degrad­ing to wom­en. It wasn’t until I start­ed the real meat of the work out that things began to get par­tic­u­lar­ly philo­soph­i­cal. You see, Ice Cube was quick­ly fol­lowed up by Juve­nile and the clas­sic, Back that Azz Up. This is where my work­out went from sweat­ing to a vow to reach my goal weight.
Hap­py to be fin­ished by hor­ri­fied by those roots
Back that Azz Up has always been a favorite of mine. I have great mem­o­ries of per­form­ing every word to this on my 21st birth­day and being quite proud. If you must know, I do remem­ber all of the lyrics and I most def­i­nite­ly was singing along as I made my way down Val­leyside Dr.  As I began to run a lit­tle faster and sweat a lit­tle hard­er, I began to get in the zone. I was focused. And sud­den­ly, it all became clear. “Girl you looks good won’t you back that Azz up. You’s a fine mutha f*&Ker won’t you back that Azz up.” Wow….no, I won’t. Would any­one? I mean real­ly? What kind of wom­an would find this an invi­ta­tion for a good time? While I am long out of the dat­ing game, I am quite cer­tain that had those pret­ty words been whis­pered to me in a dim­ly lit water­ing hole, that I would not have become star­ry eyed and jel­lo legged. I would have been more inclined to tell him what kind of mutha he was. 
I cer­tain­ly didn’t want to label myself a thir­ty-some­thing prude, so I decid­ed not to hit skip and allowed my iPod to work its mag­ic. I was soothed by Dr. Dre and Snoop and their clas­sic col­lab­o­ra­tion, Nuthin’ but a G Thang. I am not real­ly all that sure what a G is, but I am pret­ty sure that I am not one. Nev­er­the­less, it helped me to keep up my stride. I was mak­ing my way through the neigh­bor­hood wav­ing at oth­er jog­gers and look­ing at old ladies pick­ing up there news­pa­pers and could not help but won­der, “You nev­er know she could be earn­in’ her man, And learn­in’ her man, and at the same time burn­in’ her man.” They all look inno­cent…….
 
Sweat rolling down my face or a tear from the shear embar­rass­ment of those eye­brows
Next up was Hoochie Mama, anoth­er lyri­cal mas­ter­piece. “Big Booty Ho……..” It echoed in my brain and I felt the fat under my skin move up and down as if in a ridicu­lous hur­ry to dis­ap­pear. I began to envi­sion volup­tuous wom­en in string bikin­is wash­ing cars and mas­sag­ing dirt bag men with gold teeth, cig­ars and ridicu­lous smok­ing jack­ets and silk box­ers with large kiss­es on them. Faster, Colleen, faster, get that heart rate up and that sweat rolling. I real­ize that it is high­ly unlike­ly that I will ever be recruit­ed for a video by a rap giant, how­ev­er; my phys­i­cal appear­ance has begun to resem­ble what I con­sid­er to be the you-really-shouldn’t-be –in a bikini-because-you –have-had-two-chil­dren-but-if-you-toned-up-would look-great-in-a-one-piece type. The big booty hoes, well, they aren’t fol­low­ing my line of think­ing. They let it all hang out and the rest of the world suf­fers.  I know you know what I mean. You are laugh­ing, but won­der­ing if your yoga pants are just a bit too tight and some of that fluff is try­ing to escape like dough ris­ing in a bread pan. You just looked, didn’t you?
As I round­ed the cor­ner I was fur­ther inspired by the long-lost lyrics to Dazzey Duks. (Can any­one tell me what hap­pened to Duice?.…Didn’t think so.) “So if you get it, got it, good so dip the dugout
the­se damn dazzey dukes are turn­in’ out.” I have no idea what this means, but it sounds good. I am fair­ly cer­tain that I would much prefer to be able to fit into a pair of dazzey duks, fear not this will NEVER hap­pen, than to “Put em’ on the glass,” You bet, that came up next. But I digress; being able to fit into a pair of short shorts like the Nair girls would cer­tain­ly mean that I had reached some kind of fit­ness mile­stone. So thank you, Duice, for putting me right where I need­ed to be. You helped me to rec­og­nize that ‘a lit­tle junk in the trunk,’ is OK, but I would in fact need is, ‘a six pack and a hel­lu­va rump.’ You have given me a goal. 
This week’s weigh in was 162, which appears to be up a pound, but in fact my weight was unchanged. I pur­chased a new scale that made me one pound heav­ier than the scale that I had been pre­vi­ous­ly using. So, I weighed myself in both spots and I have come out to zero change. I am not dis­cour­aged; instead I am even more moti­vat­ed to keep eat­ing right and to keep mov­ing.
I mean real­ly, those roots?!?!?
On an unre­lat­ed note, I had a big idiot moment today. I went in for an eye exam this evening. I have not been to the eye doc­tor in many years because I have near­ly per­fect vision, or so I thought. Because it had been so long, I had to have my pupils dilat­ed. The doc­tor informed me that this would cause things to be a bit blur­ry and that he would be back in a few min­utes. Cer­tain that he didn’t know what he was talk­ing about, I decid­ed that I would check my FB and send a few texts. This is how well that worked out.
Upon fin­ish­ing my exam, I found that I need­ed a slight pre­scrip­tion for my right eye. This gave me an excuse to go out and by some hot new geek sheik specs. When I was leav­ing the office, they asked if I had sun­glass­es because my eyes would still be quite sen­si­tive. I assured them that I had a pair in my car and I would be just fine with­out the com­ple­men­tary Darth Vader shades that they were offer­ing. When I got to the car I did find sun­glass­es, unfor­tu­nate­ly they were a pair from the $1 bin and made to fit Finnegan…..
Idiot

Total­ly Geek Sheik, notice the hot new blonde do!

No Way Jose!

This past week was a bit of a mess. Mau­r­mi Day­care was closed, so Finnegan and Bren­nan  trav­eled all over town to spend time with fam­i­ly and friends. Because of the crazy sched­ule, my exer­cise rou­tine was a bit out of whack as well. After a fab­u­lous morn­ing at the Mag­ic House, I got in my C25K W2D1 Mon­day after­noon. The kids napped at Maurmi’s while I ran on the tread­mill. I ful­ly intend­ed to return on Wednes­day morn­ing, watch a rerun of Dance Moms and think hap­py thoughts lis­ten­ing to Chumbawamba…..yeah, not so much. I was too damn tired on Wednes­day to get up at the crack of down, so I skipped it. I fig­ured that I would get my run in on Thurs­day, nope, that didn’t hap­pen either.
Thank you Finnegan for this awe­some shot of my love­ly arched eye­brows
Over­come with guilt and the real­iza­tion that my lazi­ness would have to be in print the fol­low­ing Mon­day, I made a promise to myself that I would be in the base­ment on Dan­ton­aire on Fri­day come hell or high water. I went to bed rel­a­tive­ly ear­ly on Thurs­day morn­ing so that I could get to my par­ents’ by 7 and still make it to work on time. As I drift­ed to sleep and dreamt of char­i­ots of fire, I had no idea that my  grand plans were about to be rocked.
At 5:45 am, I began to hear bells, loud, con­tin­u­ous, mind-numb­ing bells. I jumped from bed and caught a quick glance of myself in the mir­ror. I looked a bit like a roost­er with rac­coon eyes. Appar­ent­ly I for­get to wipe my face with the knock off Oil of Olay cleans­ing cloth the night before and the Lan­come had trav­eled from my lids to my cheeks. Luck­i­ly, my cheap hook­er look was soft­ened by my Char­ter Club blue lamb night­gown.  Despite my knock­out look, I pro­ceed­ed to the front door to see who in the name of God decid­ed they want­ed to come for a cup of cof­fee at this hour. 
In front of me stood Jose, as the name on his shirt clear­ly iden­ti­fied him, one of the 47 peo­ple that showed up to put our new roof on. I knew that they were com­ing, but nev­er in a mil­lion years did I think that I would be see­ing them in my sexy attire. I gave him the A OK to head to the top of my house and then thought to myself, well DUMBY, what are you going to do know? Clear­ly I wasn’t going back to bed and it was way too ear­ly to head to my mom and dad’s. The YMCDilthey is pro­tect­ed by two fierce guard Mal­te­se whose bark is so deaf­en­ing, it would cer­tain­ly wake my father and scare the crap out of him, so I was stuck. Either I try to head back to sleep with what sound­ed like a bowl­ing game being played above my head, or I could get real­ly crazy and run out­side. 
The omi­nous sky was not a deter­rent
As you can imag­ine, run­ning out­side was a ter­ri­fy­ing prospect. I had nev­er done it and real­ly didn’t want any of my neigh­bors see­ing me, but I had no choice. I slipped into my clothes and out the door I went. As Jose and the crew were climb­ing the front of my house, I set my iPod to Bil­ly Ocean and off I went. I was quite sur­prised that I was enjoy­ing being out­side. I wasn’t watch­ing a clock, I was look­ing around. I walked, ran, lis­tened to my music and before I knew it I was halfway through my work­out, and my legs began to burn. Once again, I hat­ed the walks and couldn’t wait for the runs. 
Thrilled to have com­plet­ed the first out­door run
When I returned from my run, Jose and the crew were pack­ing it up and head­ing out. No, I hadn’t been gone eight hours, just thir­ty min­utes. Appar­ent­ly they just want­ed to wake us all up ear­ly because they didn’t do a damn thing. Nope, this was a tease. The real work would begin on Mon­day. One more week­end with our sad, hail-dam­aged roof. I thought noth­ing more of it and went on about my day. 
The offi­cial time when  I returned to my kitchen, way too ear­ly for this.…..
Because I blew it and didn’t get my work outs in on Mon­day, Wednes­day and Fri­day, I had to plan for anoth­er run on Sat­ur­day. I ful­ly intend­ed to head over to my mom and dad’s around mid morn­ing and fin­ish W2D3 on the tread­mill. Jose, he had oth­er plans.
Sat­ur­day morn­ing arrived with a bang, lit­er­al­ly. This time Jose chose not to ring the bell, instead he and the herd of ele­phants that he brought with him pro­ceed­ed to jump up and down right above the mas­ter bed­room at 6 am on Sat­ur­day. WTF? Who works on a roof on a Sat­ur­day? And at 6 am. I have the lux­u­ry of very good sleep­ers who prefer lay low until at least 8, so this was des­tined to kill me. What is a girl to do? I want­ed to go out and beat the hell out of him, but instead, I laced up and head­ed out­side.
The weath­er was pret­ty beau­ti­ful on Sat­ur­day morn­ing. The humid­i­ty was low and there was a nice dew on the grass. As I warmed up to the Spice Girls Wannabe, I casu­al­ly made my way up Crest­side Lane to the famil­iar loop that trav­eled the morn­ing before. I failed to remem­ber that it was Sat­ur­day and I briefly thought to call 911 when I saw the throngs of peo­ple run­ning down the street with high chairs, rock­ers, like-new home gym equip­ment and tools. And then I real­ized what I was wit­ness­es. The crazy Sat­ur­day morn­ing garage sale enthu­si­asts were in full force. I real­ly wished that I had been more aware of the signs because I would have felt much safer out of the hoard­ers’ way.
Too bad I noticed this after I was near­ly killed by a run­away sta­tion wag­on filled with trea­sures
The­se peo­ple were nuts. It was bare­ly past the crack of dawn and they were clad with fan­ny packs, shop­ping bags and $30 worth of nick­els! As I glid­ed past the four-fam­i­ly HUGE sale, I real­ized that as much as they were enter­tain­ment for me, I was like­ly enter­tain­ment for them. I could just hear the cack­ling…
 “Look at that fool. All dressed up and not one bit of grace or form.”
“Mmm hmm, girl­friend must have lost a bet.”
I dodged the cra­zies and con­tin­ued to make my way through the neigh­bor­hood. I real­ly start­ed to feel sore ear­ly. Two work­outs spaced a mere 24 hours apart was not the best idea. Instead, it was a long hard lesson.  Just as I was ready to give up, I was quick­ly inspired by the lyrics that were blast­ing in my ears, “Like a thief in the night, who can’t get enough. I am will­ing to fight, cause I’m a sol­dier of love.” Well, Don­ny, that has absolute­ly noth­ing to do with my quest, but I will take it and press on. “Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, when the going gets rough………….
I look I joined Jose and the crew upstairs!
Thir­ty quick min­utes lat­er, I was home and unscathed. My front lawn, well that is a whole oth­er sto­ry. Jose and the crowd had gone crazy and real­ly made a dent in the work. Lit­tle did we know they would be at it for a full 15 hours, but the new roof was com­plet­ed in one day. I would like to thank Jose and his amigos not only for a job well done, but for get­ting me up and mov­ing so ear­ly. I liked get­ting my work­out done ear­ly and I real­ly enjoyed run­ning out­side. I intend to keep it up, weath­er per­mit­ting.
30 min­utes lat­er
This week I weighed in at 161. I am a pound lighter for the week and down a total of 6. Life is good!
You can real­ly tell that I am los­ing weight in my face

G is for Goddess.….…

I have offi­cial­ly made it an entire week and I am not dead. I am not even real­ly sore. I have been stretch­ing my mus­cles prop­er­ly, warm­ing up and cool­ing down so I feel good. Well, all except for the area between my shoul­ders that feels like some­one has beat­en me over and over with a 2x4. In my quest to become phys­i­cal­ly fit, I bought all the right things. I got cute new shoes, fab­u­lous arch sup­ports, dar­ling lit­tle shorts and one of those built in bra run­ning tanks. It was all about look­ing great so that I could run in style in my par­ents’ base­ment on my mom’s tread­mill watch­ing reruns of NY Ink and blast­ing Gnarls Barkley with­out a soul in site. There was just one minor prob­lem with my new ensem­ble, those lit­tle run­ning tanks aren’t quite made for us ladies who bare more of a resem­blance to Dol­ly Par­ton than Jack­ie Joyn­er.

I com­plet­ed my first work­out on C25K and I felt great. I was sweat­ing, which is high­ly unusu­al. I mean, let’s be hon­est here. I may have been on all of the sports teams in grade school, but I was known more for the match­ing blue and gold bows in my hair and some fan­cy socks that my ath­let­ic abil­i­ties. But I digress. I made it through work­out one and I felt good. In an effort to stay on the up and up, I have tak­en post work­out pic­tures to prove that I am actu­al­ly doing this and not just typ­ing a bunch of bull­shit.

At this point, I am proud as a pea­cock.

Here is a lit­tle proof that I do sweat.

I pro­ceed­ed with C25K day two. I felt a lit­tle twinge in my left shoul­der but I kept going, I thought I just must have slept fun­ny. I am stretch­ing and exer­cis­ing and, well I look good, so it can’t pos­si­bly be any­thing that I am doing. Hmm, IDIOT, how about that super cute run­ning tank?!?!? You know the one that every time you move makes your breasts feel like they are try­ing to jump right out of your shirt and escape this tor­ture? Per­haps that is part of the prob­lem? I fig­ured that before work­out three, I might take a trip out to Ann’s Bra Shop and just get fit­ted. What could it hurt, right?

As you can see, work­out two was a bit more stren­u­ous

See that lit­tle bead of sweat? That fell from my head to my leg. Dis­gust­ing.….

No, I am not fast, but I am mov­ing.

I strolled into Ann’s with my chil­dren in tow to pick up a quick sport’s bra in a 38DD, because, well that is what size I need and that’s the end. When asked if I want­ed a fit­ting, I said, sure. I fig­ured I might as well let the wom­an earn her keep for the day. I dis­robed in front of she and my chil­dren, which start­ed a line of ques­tion­ing from Finnegan that would make any inter­ro­ga­tion­ist ner­vous, but that is for anoth­er day. Colleen, my bra fit­ter, quick­ly whipped her mea­sur­ing tape around me again and again and final­ly said, “Well you are a 34G.” Um, WTF did you just say. How is that even pos­si­ble? Do they make those? I fig­ured, what the hell. Let’s do this. Colleen pre­sent­ed me with a God­dess sports bra, that to my total shock, fit per­fect­ly. It was com­fort­able and I felt sup­port­ed. Holy moth­er of pearl! I will embrace my inner God­dess and wear my bra with pride. Twen­ty min­utes and $44 lat­er, we were off.

My third work­out was so much eas­ier. My back still hurt, but the throb­bing had sub­sid­ed. I found myself able to run and not look down at the clock as much because my neck was killing me and I was ready to quit. The sweat was pour­ing off of me. It was dis­gust­ing. I am so not used to that, but in a weird way, I liked it. I feel this intense sense of accom­plish­ment. At this point, I think that I will make it to the end.

I start­ed to lose my mind after work­out three.

My fit­ness rou­tine, cou­pled with health­ier choic­es. Lead to some suc­cess. I am quite cer­tain that I con­sumed an entire water­mel­on, a flat of straw­ber­ries and 1000 car­rots. I man­aged to eat a burg­er and fries and some to die for horse­rad­ish sauce, with­out a tremen­dous amount of guilt. I have also upped my water con­sump­tion from none, to close to eight glass­es a day. I have sur­vived on noth­ing but Diet Coke for years, so this is quite a change. I am not going total­ly tap here. I mean, I am not crazy, I am drink­ing peach fla­vored water which makes it tol­er­a­ble.

So after all of this, where am I? I am proud to say that I weighed in at 162 today. I lost five pounds in the first week. I am not expect­ing this again this week, but damn it feels good to start.

My favorite three-year-old friend joined my for a post work­out pho­to shoot